


Hidden Assets

by clgfanfic



Category: Soldier of Fortune Inc.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 11:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An assignment reveals some hidden talents of the team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hidden Assets

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Good to Go #2 and later in Black Ops #10 under the pen name Becca Koldfurr.
> 
> Based on the story treatment "Double Barrel" written by Jay Cappe. Mr. Cappe wrote the treatment as a second season episode, but I thought it might just work as a first season story. I have remained as true to the treatment as possible, although I have taken a few liberties with the plot line here and there.

**Silver Star Hotel**

**Hermosa Beach** **, CA**

 

          It had been a quiet, productive day.  Matt and his team had trained hard, Chance even joining them for some light exercises for the first time in over a month.  They had all enjoyed an afternoon of sailing to celebrate, then, that evening, they had each gone their separate ways.  He and Benny Ray had grabbed supper together at a local diner, then returned to the Silver Star so Matt could get his paperwork finished while the sniper checked over their weapons.

It was a familiar routine that they had settled into over Chance's long recovery, and with the pilot still on the mend, it was one Shepherd expected they would continue to stick to for at least another couple of weeks.  And that was just fine by him.  When it ended, he would miss the companionship of the sniper.

The down time was good, too.  It had given them all a chance to get healthy and get back into peak condition – everyone except Chance, but he was progressing faster than anyone had anticipated.  It had also given him time to work on the old hotel, finishing off the finer details in the five second-floor suites that he'd given to the team-members, not to mention getting a start on the first floor remodeling.  He wasn't sure he really wanted to convert the Silver Star into a bar, but that was a hell of a lot more reasonable than trying to turn it into a working hotel again – especially since the basement and second floor had been converted into their private space.

          He glanced over at Benny Ray, who, finished with the weapons, was now seated behind one of the computers, muttering unhappily at something he'd found online.

          Matt grinned.  "What's up?" he asked.

          The sniper glanced up, looking a little sheepish.  "Hell, Major, there's gotta be a some way to filter the damn junk mail I get online.  You know anyone who wants to see hot chicks makin' it with small furry animals?"  He shook his head and snorted disgustedly.

          Shepherd winced and shook his head.  "Ask Margo."

Benny Ray's reaction was a combination of surprise and shock.  "Margo?  Sounds more like his His Majesty t'me."

"Ask Margo how to filer the junk mail," Matt clarified.  "Checking your mail?"

          "Yeah," Benny Ray said, then grinned.  "And talkin' with Katie."

          "Tell her hello," Matt said, turning his attention back to his newspaper.  Benny Ray's daughter was a great kid, and the sniper seemed to enjoy the time he spent with her – online, or in person – and now that Mary Ellen had moved the kids to Seattle, it was more commonly online.

          Matt shook his head.  There were times he was very glad that he'd never married and never had children.  He couldn't imagine the frustration of a separation, or the pain of a divorce after twelve years, or what it must have felt like to watch as his kids headed for a plane that would take them hundreds of miles away.  The sniper never said so, but he missed his ex and his kids.

          Matt leaned back, getting more comfortable.  It was probably the loneliness that had prompted the man to move in, and, he admitted to himself, it was actually nice having Benny Ray living full time at the Silver Star.  It made the place seem less empty.  And it wasn't like he had to worry about a lot of idle chitchat.  The sniper had made the move after Mary Ellen decided to file for divorce and he'd never bothered to look for someplace else.  Not that that bothered Shepherd.  Benny Ray was good company, and almost as handy with tools as he was with a sidearm or a rifle.

          He picked up the paper, but set it back down when he heard a car pull up outside.  Benny Ray had heard it too.  He reached automatically for the Glock lying next to the computer.

A moment later there was a knock, followed by the sound of someone unlocking the door and descending the stairs to the basement.  The ex-Army major recognized the familiar footfall.  He stood, tossing the paper onto the sofa, and crossed the basement in time to greet their visitor  when he reached the bottom of the stairs. 

          "Trout," he said, "you're out late tonight."

          "Matt," the man greeted, then he spotted Benny Ray, who was just setting his weapon back down.  "Mr. Riddle," he added.  "You know what they say, trouble doesn't keep regular business hours."

          "Trouble?" Matt asked.

Trout nodded.

"Sounds like I'm going to need some coffee.  Want some?"  Matt turned and walked away without waiting for an answer.

          Trout followed Shepherd into the basement kitchen.  "Why not," he said.  He waited until Matt poured him a cup and handed it to him before he said, "I need your help, Matt."

          "And here I thought this might just be a simple social call," Shepherd replied, gesturing to the large wooden table.  He met Benny Ray's gaze.  "You want some coffee?"

          "Pass," the sniper said, saying his good-byes to Katie and logging off.

          Trout sat down at the table.  He lifted the cup to his lips, then paused and sniffed.  "An excellent decision, Mr. Riddle.  I'm not going to ask how old this is, but I think the EPA could close you down for producing this kind of hazardous waste."

          Matt snorted softly, then tried a sip of the almost pitch-black liquid.  He made a face and set the cup down.

          "Maybe I should make some more," Benny Ray offered, starting to stand.

          "Please," Trout said, gesturing for the sniper to sit.

          Benny Ray looked to Matt, who nodded.  He sat and waited to see what their next mission was going to be.

"So, what do you need this time?" Shepherd asked.

          Trout pushed the file folder he'd been carrying across the table.  When Matt opened it, he found an 8x10 black-and-white photo lying on top.  "That's Armenian President Papken Grashi," he said.

          "A friend of this administration, right?" Matt asked, handing the photo to Benny Ray.

          "So we thought."  When Matt turned the first page of text below the photo, Trout continued, "It seems that President Grashi has had a sudden… reversal of attitude, shall we say.  He's been stirring the fires of aggression with Azerbaijan recently, a act that goes against his stated policy, and he's cut off all negotiations for a western owned and operated oil pipeline through his country, something he promised the Administration he'd support several months ago."

          Matt skimmed the intelligence report, then passed it to Benny Ray.  Below the printed pages was another black and white photo.

"General Alek Grashi," Trout explained.  "The President's brother… and, we believe, the real reason behind the reversal in the Armenian administration's behavior."

          "Military coup?" Benny Ray asked, as Matt handed him the General's photo.

          Trout shook his head.  "If it were only that simple.  No, General Grashi doesn't have the support among the rank and file to pull off a coup.  The military, on the whole, remains loyal to President Grashi."

          "What's the punch line?" Matt asked.

          "It took some doing, but our in-country assets have confirmed that the General has had his brother replaced by a double."

Matt snorted.  "Now that sounds like something out of a bad spy movie, Trout."

"This is no fiction, Matt," Trout countered.  "General Grashi wants to take charge of the country, and, more importantly, he wants control over the pipeline contracts.  He stands to become a _very_ wealthy man by denying the West a right of way through the country and selling that privilege to the Russians, or one of the OPEC countries."

          "And no one's noticed this switch?" Matt asked, still sounding skeptical.

          "The President is a widower," Trout replied.  "There's no close family to raise an alarm."

"Just his brother," Benny Ray added.

Trout nodded.

          "And you want us to…?" Matt asked.

          "I want you to free the President and replace the double with the real thing," Trout summed up.  "I'm sure Grashi will take it from there."

          "You know I'm still a man short," Matt said.  "The doctor hasn't cleared Chance for duty yet.  He's still getting treatment."

          Trout nodded.  He knew intimately how bad the plane crash had been that had put the pilot in the hospital for several weeks.  And, from the last report he'd received, Mr. Walker still had several more weeks of physical therapy ahead of him before he'd be ready for a final evaluation.  "Matt, if it wasn't important, I wouldn't be here.  I know you'll be going in a man short, but it has to be done, and you're the only one who can do it within the next seventy-two hours.  Can't you call in someone else to replace Mr. Walker?"

          "Nobody can replace Chance," Shepherd stated flatly.

          Trout raised his hands to fend off any more comments on the subject.  "I didn't mean to imply someone could.  But in the short-run–"

          "Rico?" Benny Ray asked.

          Matt shook his head.  "His mother," he reminded.

          The sniper nodded, then explained in reaction to Trout's confused look, "Rico's mama had a bad stroke a couple 'a weeks back.  They're pretty sure she ain't leavin' the hospital."

          The older man nodded, his expression one of honest sadness.  "Please, pass along my condolences."  He looked back at Matt, pinning the man's gaze.  "Can you go with four?"

          Shepherd thought a moment, then nodded.  "We'll adjust.  I take it you know where the real President is being held?"

          Trout cocked his head to one side, his expression wry.  "Where's the perfect place to keep someone who claims to be the President of his country?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Yerevan** **, Armenia**

**Skivpin** **Hospital**

 

          Two orderlies, both dressed in once-white uniforms that had faded to dull gray, moved down a long hallway of locked doors.  Between them, an older man struggled weakly in their grasp.  The man, his long gray-streaked beard dotted with bits of old food and fresh spittle, tried to jerk free, but the two younger men were much stronger than he.

          "You have to believe me!" he pleaded, his voice high and fearful, his eyes slightly wild.  "I _am_ President Grashi!"

          The two orderlies laughed, half-dragging the old man further down the hallway to one of the many closed doors.

One of the orderlies held the struggling man while the other fished a key from his pocket and opened the door.

"Please, it's true!"

The man shoved Grashi into the small room.  "Good night… Mr. President," he snickered, then slammed the door shut.

The two men laughed when Grashi turned and threw himself against the door.  "Morons!" he screamed.  "I will have you shot for this!  Shot!  I _am_ President Grashi!  You will release me!"

The second orderly shook his head sadly.  "Crazy old man," he said softly.

"He's had his shot.  He'll sleep soon enough," his companion replied.  "It is time for us to go home, Amel."

"Yes," he agreed.  "Have a good night, Lev.  I will see you again tomorrow."

The two men headed off in opposition directions down the hall.  Several minutes later Amel stepped out onto the cool night air.  Stars shone brightly overhead, and in the distance, the faint lights from Yerevan created a fuzzy glow along the horizon.  He took a deep breath, enjoying the light scent of approaching winter.

He glanced around the roof.  Everything was still and silent, even the cricket song lost to the cooling weather.  Digging into the pocket of the labcoat he wore, he fished out a small object.  The item in hand, Amel walked out to the center of the roof and squatted down.  With careful precision he fanned opened a tiny metal satellite dish.  His hand dipped into his opposite pocket and he removed a small keypad, which he plugged into the dish.  Pressing a small button powered up the conjoined unit.  When a tiny light on the device blinked from red to green, he used the keypad to compose and sent a brief message.  He waited just a few moments for the reply.

When the incoming message was received and read, he powered down the device, then unplugged the keypad, slipping it back into his pocket.  He stood and folded the dish up, then dropped it into his other pocket and turned.  Soon he would be home, lying in his wife's loving arms.  They would talk about the child she would bear in the new year.  He smiled.  It would be a daughter, just as beautiful as her mother…

He froze, just meters from the door, when a man stepped out of the shadows.  He was tall and broad-shouldered, but it was the smile on the man's scarred face that frightened Amel.  The orderly watched, unable to react as the man lifted a silenced pistol and fired.

Amel slumped to the rooftop, his life bleeding away.  He looked up at the man, watching as he lit a cigarette, flicking the spent match to the ground near Amel's face.  The dying man watched as his killer blew out a cloud of smoke into the night air, obscuring the already fading light of the stars.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**The Next Morning**

**The Silver Star**

 

          "I'm good to go, sir."

          Shepherd met the man's eyes.  He was earnest.  Still, he shook his head.  "Chance, I talked to the doctor myself this morning, and he says you're still grounded."

          The handsome black man looked away, cursing softly under his breath.  But he quickly regained control of his emotions.  "I kept up with everyone yesterday.  And I feel fine today," he argued reasonably.  "I can do this, Major."

          Matt noticed the rest of the team going about their preparations, trying their hardest to ignore the argument.  He remained firm.  "Yesterday was an easy jog and some light weight work.  You're doing great, Chance, but it's going to take some more time.  When the doctor clears you, you're back, not before.  We can pull this off with four of us on-site."

          Chance held Shepherd's gaze, looking for any give.  There was none.  He sighed heavily, but nodded, then walked over and sank down in his chair.  "Major," he called quietly.

Shepherd turned.  "Yeah?"

"Let me help with the mission profile?"

          "Of course," Matt replied with a grin.  "I said you weren't going, not that you were getting a free ride.  Trout's getting us time on a military satellite so you can be our eye in the sky."

          "MILSAT, huh?" Chance replied, a small smile lifting the disappointment  from his expression.  "Cool."

          "We'll miss ya, mate," C.J. said softly as he walked past the black man carrying an armload of explosives, det cord, switches, and detonators.

          Chance flashed the Brit a grateful grin.

Shepherd watched the exchange, glad that his pilot and hand-to-hand expert was resigned to the situation.  He knew what it was like to feel fine and still be grounded.  It was the closest thing to hell he could think of, especially when his people were in the field.  Chance wanted to be there for them, and Matt could appreciate that.  But the man had damn-near died, and there was no way he was letting Chance back into the field until the doctors said he was good to go.

          "Okay, people, gather around," Shepherd said.

The foursome moved to the large wooden table and took seats.  Matt handed out satellite photos of Skivpin Hospital.  "This is where they're keeping the President Grashi.  He was there as of last night, according to Trout's on-site asset… unfortunately, the asset missed his check-in this morning."

          Margo looked up from the satellite image, concern clear in her worried expression.  "Then we have to assume that he's been compromised."

          Shepherd nodded.  "Trout has a second asset who will confirm that the President hasn't been moved.  We should know by midnight tonight."

He handed out a second satellite image, this one revealing the details of a large, expensive home.  "In four days the president, or his double in this case, will be honored during his annual birthday bash here at the Presidential mansion."

"Security?" Benny Ray asked.

Shepherd was ready with another sheet of paper.

"Nothing we can't handle," C.J. said after scanning the list.

"What's the plan?" Margo asked.

"C.J. and I will spring Grashi from the hospital.  Margo, Benny Ray, we'll need to find a way to get you into the party to prepare for the switch."

Margo's eyebrows arched.  "A party?  I'll have to do some shopping."

The men chuckled.

"And me?" Chance asked wistfully.

Matt nodded to the computer.  "You're going to be keeping an eye on the hospital and the mansion, just in case they decide to move the President, or change the security set-up without telling us."

The black man nodded.  It wasn't much, but it was something, and, more importantly, it was something potentially useful.

          "Okay, people, I want you to go over the photos and these."  Matt handed out blueprints.  "These are the most recent floor plans we could find for the hospital and the President's mansion.  You know what to do."  He looked at Margo.  "Let's go see if we can't find a way to get the two of you inside that party."

          She nodded, following Shepherd into his office.  She already had a pretty good idea.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Yerevan** **, Armenia**

**The President's Office**

 

          General Alek Grashi paced angrily in the large, plush office inside the Presidential home.  Seated behind the inlaid cherry desk that dominated one corner of the room was the man who had recently become the acting President of Armenia.

"No, no, _no!_ " the General thundered.  "How many times must I tell you, my brother does _not_ drink champagne!  How can you be so stupid!  Do you think they will not ask questions if you act strangely?  That they will not notice?  And my brother would _never_ defer to the Russian ambassador!  Never!  You have undermined my position in the negotiation over the pipeline!  You _must_ do better!"

"My performance was perfectly adequate," the double said dismissively, fingering a gold-plated letter opener lying on the blotter.

The General stormed to the desk, stopped, then pounded his fists on the smooth, polished surface.  "It must be flawless!  There can be no mistakes!"

"You expect me to–!"

"Enough!"

Both men fell silent, deferring to the third man in the room.  Tall and broad-shouldered, he stalked out from where he had been standing near the corner, watching out the window.  He fingered the long scar that ran along his right cheek and shook his head.  "There is no reason to panic, Alek.  A small slip here or there can easily be swept away.  But," he looked pointedly at the double, "the fewer mistakes, the better."  He turned back to the General.  "We have more important concerns: the security breach at the hospital.  Someone knows the President is there."

"You are jumping to conclusions, Zivian," the General snapped, pacing back to the center of the room, making himself the focus of attention.  "And since you killed the spy, we cannot question him!"  He glowered at the assassin.  "There is nothing to suggest that he was working for the Americans.  And there are only three days left before the gala.  Tovov must be made ready – _that_ is our most important concern."

"I _am_ ready," the double countered, leaning back in the padded leather chair, looking bored.

"You are not!" the General bellowed.

"General, the hospital–"

Alek Garshi whirled to face the man.  "What do you want, Zivian?" he demanded, wanting to get rid of the man so he could continue to work with Tovov.

"Since you will not let me hire my own people, I need more military guards.  In case the Americans decide to interfere."

"Fine!  Take them from the palace ranks!  But not a word of what we're doing.  The fools are too loyal to my brother.  Now, leave us, I will _not_ have this arrogant gutter performer destroy my opportunity to step into my brother's shoes!"

Zivian gave the General a stiff half-bow, then stalked to the door and left.  General Grashi turned back to the double.  "Now, we will review everything once again.  Until you are flawless."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Silver Star**

**Hermosa Beach** **, CA**

 

          In the basement of the Silver Star, Matt Shepherd and the rest of his team packed the last of the equipment they thought they might need for the upcoming mission.  Chance sat, watching the proceedings and looking longingly at the weapons Benny Ray was carefully loading into a suitcase.

          He pushed himself up from his chair and crossed the room, sitting down next to the sniper, but when he spoke it was to Shepherd.  "I've been spending some extra time on the Pentagon satellites," he said.  "I think I found a better way into the hospital."

          Shepherd shot the man a half-annoyed look.  "Chance, you're supposed to be taking it easy – resting."

          "I know," he replied, "but I want to help.  I feel like a fifth-wheel."

          "No way, man," Benny Ray said, leveling the man with a don't-even-go-there look.

          "Since when do you know how to hack into classified satellites, mate?" C.J. asked, genuinely surprised.

          Chance grinned at the Brit and waggled his eyebrows.  "I have several hidden talents," he countered meaningfully.

          "Like forging documents?" Margo asked, remembering Chance's help with the Decker passport when they were going after the directed beam weapon in Germany.  "I still haven't gotten over the shock."

          "Yeah, like that," Chance agreed.  "And… other things."  He looked at C.J.  "But it's not like I knit or anything."

          "Knitting?" Matt echoed, turning to look at the Brit.  "C.J. knits?"

          The explosives expert shot Chance a hot glare.  "It's… relaxing," he defended himself.  "I have to do something with my hands when I'm just sitting there, waiting."

          "I'll bet," Margo replied, grinning.  "You know, I could use an afghan for my sofa, something in nice, rich earth-tones?"

          "And what's your secret?" Matt challenged Margo, saving C.J.

          Her eyebrows arched questioningly.  "My secret?"

          "You know," C.J. teased, "some hidden talent you've never shared with us; some little mystery that you hide from the world."

          "Like you and your passion for women's rugby?" she asked.

          C.J. shrugged one shoulder, but he was grinning.  "Girls with lots of energy…"

          She looked back at Matt.  "I'll tell you one of mine, if you tell us one of yours," she offered, her smile challenging.

          Matt sighed and stopped packing.  He folded his arms over his chest.  "What makes you think I have anything to share?"

          "Call it… intuition," she replied.

          "All right," Matt said, getting back to work.  "I collect rare coins from the time of the Gold Rush through the end of the Civil War era, been doing it since I was a kid.  They're in a safe deposit box back in Michigan…  Guess I ought to move them out here…"

          That stopped everyone and the operators all looked at Shepherd.

          "What?" he asked.  "It's a hobby.  You've all heard of a hobby, haven't you?"  He grinned at Margo – the ball was back in her court.  "So, what's your secret?"

          Margo hesitated, then said quickly and softly, "Papier mache."

          "Excuse me?" Chance said, leaning forward.

          "You heard me," Margo said, slipping her Glock into her bag.

          "Of what?" C.J. asked.

          Margo leveled a foreboding glance on him.

          "Okay," he relented, his hands coming up in a gesture of surrender.  "How 'bout… why?"

          She looked at him again.  "It's… relaxing," she echoed.  "I have to have something to do with my hands when–"

          "Okay, okay, I get the point," the Brit grumbled.  Then he shifted his attention to Benny Ray, who had remained suspiciously silent throughout the exchange.  "What about you, mate?"

          The sniper looked up, pointing to himself, his eyebrows arched in question.

          Matt and Chance exchanged glances, both men grinning.

          "With Benny Ray it's what-you-see-is-what-you-get," Margo said, then met the sniper's gaze.  "No offense," she added quickly, "but there's nothing mysterious about you.  It's one of the things that makes you so… dependable."

          Chance, C.J. and Matt snorted softly.

          "That's a compliment," she told them, her eyes narrowed to prove she meant it.

          Benny Ray shrugged.  "Ya never know," he said, just a hint of amusement in his eyes, "I might just surprise ya one day."

She grinned at him.  "Maybe.  But I won't hold my breath."

Matt shook his head.  "Chance, tell me about this better way into the hospital you found," he said.

The black man nodded and did just that.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Yerevan** **, Armenia**

**Skivpin** **Hospital**

 

          It was early morning, the sun just starting to make its climb through the cloud-freckled sky.  The air was brisk and clean, but a breeze held the promise of a cold front moving in.  And among the brushes and leaf-less trees, something was moving.

          "Great.  Bloody great," C.J. hissed.  He had lain down next to Matt, both men well concealed in the brown and green foliage clinging to the hillsides that surrounded two sides of the hospital.  "Guess we know why Trout's man hasn't been in contact," he grumbled.  "And the back-up couldn't hang around – a delivery guy of some kind."

"They must have found him," Matt agreed, checking the grounds with high powered binoculars.  "Chance was right.  Looks like the guard's been doubled, maybe tripled."

"How are we supposed to get past all this?" C.J. asked.  "It's got to be the most heavily guarded hospital in the world!"

"I don't know…" Matt said.  "…yet.  But we'll find a way.  Maybe Chance has found something we can use.  Plan A is definitely out."

"I hope he has," C.J. replied, "or we're going to end up inmates just for _trying_ to get in there!"

Shepherd pulled out the satellite phone and dialed.  A moment later Chance answered, "Major, I think I found what you need."

"Good man," Matt replied, then flashed a grin at C.J.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Yerevan** **, Armenia**

**Safehouse**

 

          Dressed in their usual black uniforms, Matt and C.J. reviewed their new plan for infiltrating the mental institution.  When they were satisfied that they had every contingency covered, they turned to the blueprints for the mansion, reviewing how they would move the President into the building.

As they wrapped up, Benny Ray appeared, putting the finishing touches on the classic black tuxedo he wore.  Shepherd watched, noting that the sniper looked confident and surprisingly cool for a man he thought must be a complete stranger to the traditional monkey suit.

"You look… different," C.J. said, his head cocked to one side as he watched the sniper.

Benny Ray flashed him a cold look.

"Good different," C.J. quickly amended.  "But that tux looks _really_ uncomfortable."

Benny Ray shrugged in reply.  "Ain't too bad."

Any further comments were cut short when Margo stepped into the room, already dressed and wearing a floor-length, black mink coat.  Expensive jewelry glittered at her ears, throat and wrist.

C.J.'s mouth opened, but before he could say anything, Benny Ray muttered, "Put a sock in it, amigo."

Matt grinned at her.  "You look… marvelous."

"Why, thank you," Margo replied, her Russian accent flawless.

She glided over to Benny Ray, who had just slipped on his bow tie and was starting to tie it.  "Need some help?" she asked.

"Nope," he replied, quickly knotting it like an expert.

Her eyes rounded slightly.  "Well, then," she said, "it's time to go."

"You have the IR flares?" Matt asked.

Benny Ray nodded.  "One:  standby.  Two:  good to go."

"Be careful," Matt cautioned the pair.

"Of course," Margo replied.

"Good luck, sir," the sniper added.

"We're gonna need it," C.J. muttered.

"Sure you don't want to just leave him there?" the sniper asked Matt.  "Fit right in."

"Oh, very funny," C.J. replied, leveling the sniper with a sour look.  "I might be crazy, but I'm _not_ insane."

Benny Ray paused a moment, then nodded.  "I'll buy that… for now."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

# Skivpin Hospital

 

          Matt and C.J. silently worked their way down a hillside to one of the out buildings.  Once there, Shepherd used the secured satellite link to contact Chance.  "Home plate, this is left field.  I need a sitrep."

          Chance's voice replied a moment later, carrying his smile with his words.  "Okay, I'm working with a seven second delay in the voice transmission, closer to twenty seconds for the images, but as of right now your path to the laundry is clear.  The guards all seem to be sticking to their usual rounds.  Proceed with caution."

          "Roger that," Matt replied.  He nodded to C.J. and the pair moved forward.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

# Presidential Place

 

          General Grashi grabbed Tovov's arm.  "I am not finished."

          The double jerked free.  "Perhaps not," he snapped.  "But _I_ am finished.  I know what I must do."  With that he headed out to join the party, paying no attention to the General, who went to grab him again.

          Zivian stopped the General, saying, "Let him go.  He is prepared."

          Grashi was livid, but he forced his anger down.  He could not afford to make a scene, not with members of the international press in attendance.  After taking a deep breath he said, "Go.  Watch him.  We are too close to fail now."

          The assassin bowed slightly, then left to find the "President."

The General checked his uniform, then stepped out to join the party himself.  He paused at the second story railing, glancing down as Margo and Benny Ray entered.  He did not recognize either of them, but he was intrigued by Margo.  She handed her invitation to his assistant, who was monitoring the arrival of the guests.  He moved quickly down the stairs, reaching the pair as Margo pulled off her coat, handing it to the maid who had appeared at her elbow to take it.

 _Stunning_ , Grashi thought as she handed over the mink.  The deep burgundy gown she wore accentuated her pale skin and her exotic pale gray eyes, and the plunging neckline was… _enticing_.  His gaze moved from the swell of her breasts to her face.  Her dark auburn hair had been swept up, a few wispy strands left free to curl around her face, enhancing her high cheekbones.

He noticed her companion gaze appreciatively at her as well and he immediately bristled, wanting to take her away from the man.

"Welcome," Alek greeted in Russian.  "I am General Alek Grashi."

"Thank you," she replied in kind.  "It is a pleasure to finally meet you.  Natalia Khvorostyanov."

"I am afraid I have not had the pleasure," he said, wondering who she worked for.

Margo dipped her head slightly, then looked up at him through her eyelashes.  "I have only arrived a few days ago," she explained.  "I am a geologist with–"

"Ah, yes, the pipeline, very good.  I had no idea geologists were so lovely."  He smiled at the blush that touched her cheeks, then glanced at Benny Ray, his smile immediately fading.  "And you are?"

Margo reached out and slipped her arm through Benny Ray's.  "Mr. Ewing is from Texas, in the United States.  An oil expert that we have been able to… entice away from the American oil companies.  He does not speak Russian, or Armenian."

General Grashi nodded, then extended his hand.  "Mr. Ewing," he said in heavily accented English.  "Welcome."

"Thank you, sir," Benny Ray replied, knowing the man was lying through his teeth.  "It's a pleasure to be here."

"Please, enjoy my brother's hospitality," the General concluded in Russian, but he only looked at Margo.

As soon as he moved off, Margo and Benny Ray moved into the ballroom, mingling with the other guests and carefully making their way closer to the double, who was sipping champagne and flirting with a pretty Russian reporter.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

# Skivpin Hospital

 

          Matt and C.J. moved silently down the hospital's dark corridors.  Dressed in black jumpsuits and face-paint, they blended into the shadows.  Night vision goggles helped guide their way though the dark maze of corridors and hallways.  Behind many of the locked doors they passed the two operators heard screams, moans, and several one-sided conversations, some of them quite animated.  The muted din added a surreal soundtrack to the green-tinted world beyond their goggles and made the two men more alert than normal.

          "Feels like we stepped into a really, really bad horror film," C.J. said softly into his lip mike.

          "Tell me about it," Matt replied.  The place gave him the creeps.  More than anything he wanted to get in and get out, quickly, and with as little contact with the residents as possible.

          Reaching the end of one hall, they paused, listening for any movement, then turned right into an identical hallway.  They were almost to the wing where Grashi was being held – if the intel they had was still accurate.  Shepherd hoped that it was.  If they had to check every room, they could be there all night.  And they were sure to be discovered, by the inmates, if not the staff or the guards.  At least the additional security seemed to be limited to the outside of the building.  The staff probably didn't want to get the patients stirred up by the additional personnel, he reasoned.

          A high-pitched keen rent the quiet, the mournful sound raising the short hairs on both men's arms and necks.

          "Bloody hell," C.J. whispered.

          "Yeah," Matt agreed as a chill snaked down his back.

          They reached another corner, paused, listened then stepped around the corner and came to an immediate stop.  A gray-haired man shuffled slowly down the corridor, his arms folded tightly across his chest, his head down, chin almost touching his chest.  He muttered softly to himself, a constant stream of chatter in a quiet, soothing tone.

          Matt eased back a step and checked the hallway they'd just left.  A guard turned the corner and stopped, leaning back against the wall at the far end of the corridor.  He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.  Shepherd quickly looked away so he wouldn't be blinded by the flare from the match.

          He stepped up to C.J., whispering, "We can't go back; guard's having a smoke."

          Caught where they were, the two operators watched as the old man shuffled closer, the scrape of his worn slippers sounding unnaturally loud.  But at least he seemed oblivious of their presence.  Maybe they could just slip past the man, Matt thought.

          When he was only a few feet from them the old man looked up, his eyes and mouth immediately rounding with surprise.  "Aliens," he hissed in Russian a moment later, back-peddling and shaking his hands at them.

          "What?"

          "He thinks we're aliens."

          "Great," Matt sighed.

          "Easy," C.J. told the inmate in Russian.  "We're not going to hurt you."

          "Aliens," the man repeated, a little louder this time.  His back bumped off the wall and he froze, beginning to tremble.

          C.J. moved quickly, grabbing the old man and pinning him against the wall, his hand over the man's mouth.  Given their clothes and the night vision goggles, they probably did look like aliens to the man.  But they couldn't afford to have him raise an alarm.  C.J. also didn't want to kill him if he could help it.

          "You have him?" Matt asked.

          C.J. nodded.

          "I'll watch the guard," he said, then moved silently back to the end of the hall.

          "Easy, friend," C.J. said softly, wishing his Russian wasn't so rusty.  "We're, uh, good aliens.  We're here to, uh, help you."

          The man's eyes grew even wider, but he stopped trembling.

          "We're here to, uh, find an, uh, ambassador, to represent Earth at our, uh, United Federation of Planets," C.J. explained, glad that Shepherd couldn't understand what he was saying.  It was a lame explanation, but he hoped the old man was just crazy enough to buy it.

He was.  An excited nod was the reply.

          "If I take my hand away, you won't scream, right?" the Brit asked.

          The man shook his head.

          C.J. slowly lifted his hand off the man's mouth.

"I always knew you'd come one day," he whispered.

"I'll just bet you did," the Brit replied under his breath, then whispered, "No one must know we're here.  They… wouldn't understand."

          "Yes, yes," the old man agreed, grinning to reveal toothless gums.  "I understand.  A secret mission.  Are you from Voltex, or Gombom?"

          "Speed it up," Matt said softly, his voice clear in C.J.'s earpiece.  "Looks like the guard's about done."

          "Which do you think?" C.J. asked the inmate, hoping he didn't make a mistake now.

          The older man hesitated and C.J. noticed for the first time that he was thin, extremely thin, looking more like a prisoner of war than a hospital patient.  When the old man coughed softly, the Brit knew it was consumption.

"Gombom," the inmate said at last.  "You look like one of the beings of light."

          "Yeah, that's right," C.J. replied, allowing himself to breathe again.  "And I think you might just be the ambassador we're looking for, but I can't be sure.  Would you like that?"

          "Oh yes," the old man replied, grinning again.  "Is there plenty of food on Gombom?"

          "Lots," C.J. said.  "Look, do you know how to get to the roof?"

          "Yes," the man said, nodding.

          "Hurry," Matt said.

          "Then you go to the roof and wait," C.J. instructed.  "The, uh, mother ship will come and pick you up.  The, uh, high council will decide if you're the human we're looking for."

          "They will?"

          "Yeah, but only if you get up there right away," C.J. said.  "We're on a tight schedule."

          The old man turned and hurried down the hallway, his slippers sounding like fine-grain sandpaper on the worn floor.  Turning the corner, he disappeared.

          The guard rounded the corner a moment later, but Matt was ready and waiting for him.  The man was unconscious before he could utter a single sound.

          "What did you tell the old man?" he asked after he laid the guard on the floor.

          C.J. explained.

          Matt shook his head, then led the way down the hall, muttering, "We just better not miss the mothership."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

# Presidential Mansion

 

          "So, what's your plan?" Benny Ray asked after taking a sip of the expensive champagne offered to him by a woman in a short black uniform.  He scanned the guests, waiters and guards, alert for any possible danger, but everyone seemed relaxed and more interested in the food and drink than the two operators.

          "What do you think?" Margo asked, tugging her dress down a little to expose more cleavage.  "Sex," she whispered with a smile.

          "The usual," Benny Ray replied, shaking his head a little.

          "You don't think it'll work?" she asked.  "Have you seen how he's hitting on those reporters?"

          "Didn't say it wouldn't work," Benny Ray said, then he flashed her a grin.  "He'd have t' be blind not to appreciate your, uh… charms."

          Margo's eyebrows arched.  "Why, thank you," she said.

          "Any time."

          Together they moved slowly through the crowd, working their way closer to the double as casually as possible.  Margo caught the double's eye and smiled.  He smiled back.  She glanced away, then back, her gaze inviting him to join her.

          But then someone stepped up, blocking her view.  She took him in, from polished shoes, to narrow hips, to muscular chest and broad shoulders, to angular face, complete with scar.  She would never call the man handsome, but he did have an air about him – one that spoke of danger, and, under that, a coldness that promised pain to anyone who crossed him.  She was very glad Benny Ray stood at her elbow.

          "Excuse me," she said, then started to step around the frowning obstruction.

The man reached out and stopped her, his hand on her arm.  Benny Ray took a step closer, the two men locking gazes, each sizing the other up.  For a brief moment Margo was afraid they might come to blows, but then the sniper took a half-step back and looked at her, letting her take the lead.

Margo looked up at the scarred man.  "Excuse me, do I know you?" she asked.

"Zivian," he replied, his tone and gaze clearly uninterested in her charms.  "The President is a very busy man," he added, frowning down at her.

          "Yes, I'm sure he is," Margo replied, an innocent, clueless expression on her face.  "I'd like to pass along my best wishes," she said, leaning to the side so she could catch a glimpse of the double.  He was watching them.

          "I will be happy to do so for you," Zivian replied dryly, his gaze shifting again to Benny Ray.  His eyes narrowed slightly, but the sniper just smiled thinly, then ignored him.  "Please," he said, gesturing for them to move away.  "Go, enjoy the party."

          "But the President–" Margo began.

          "Is too busy to see you at the moment; perhaps later."

          Margo smiled, then hooked her arm under Benny Ray's.  They did as Zivian had asked, moving off into the crowd.  Looking back over her shoulder, she noticed that the double was frowning at the big man.  Well, at least she'd made an impression on the imposter.  Now all she had to do was find a way to shake the man's watchdog long enough to introduce herself.

          "Zivian," Tovov called.

The man turned and walked over to join the "President."

          "What are you doing?" the double demanded, his gaze following Margo as she guided Benny Ray over to one of the table with a large selection of caviar.

          "I do not recognize her," Zivian replied, watching Benny Ray, his eyes narrowed with concentration.  There was something about the man that bothered him, a certain edge to him that he did not like.  It said he was dangerous, deadly.  He would have to keep his eye on the American.

          Mistaking the focus of Zivian's concentration, Tovov added, "She is beautiful."  He leered after Margo.  "I want to meet her.  Now."

          "No," the large man replied. 

          "No?" the double echoed, glancing up at the scarred face.  "You are talking to the President, and you tell me 'no'?"

          "I'm talking to a fool," Zivian countered.  "Stay away from her.  You have plenty of other whores to amuse you."

          Tovov seethed, but he dared not challenge the man.  Zivian would not hesitate to slit his throat if he felt crossed.  He stared after Margo as the General's lackey moved away.  _One way or the other_ , he thought, _I will meet that woman_.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Margo and Benny Ray stayed at the small table with the caviar until Zivian, and then the double moved off.  As they began to shadow the imposter, the General arrived again, engaging Margo in meaningless conversation.

When she finally managed to escape the man's attention, she re-joined Benny Ray at another table, this one laden with a variety of too-rich pastry.  She picked up a tiny confection and tried a bite.

          "Hmm, good," she said.

          "The man does know how to throw a party – if you like this blue-blood stuff."

"I do," she smiled.

Benny Ray nodded.  "So, you have a plan B?"

          She nodded.  "I'll have to try going it alone.  I think you make the President's bodyguard nervous.  If you can distract Zivian, I should be able to get the double out to the gardens."

          "I don't know," the sniper said, "ol' scar-face is keepin' most folks away from the President."

          "I have to try.  Unless you have a better idea?"

          Benny Ray looked her in the eye.  "I might, but we'll try your plan B first."

          "We will?"

          He nodded.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

# Skivpin Hospital

 

          "Here," Matt called softly.  "I think this is it."

          C.J. joined Shepherd at a locked door.  A small index card had been slipped into a plastic holder that was taped to the door just below eye-level.  It read: Papken Aswani in Cyrillic.  "Yeah," he nodded, "that's the name Trout's insider said to look for."  He grinned at Shepherd.  "Not bad."

          "It's just looking for a pattern to me," Matt replied as he reached into a large pocket along his thigh, pulling out a small tool kit.  Opening the kit, he removed a small lockpick and used it to unlatch the door.  He pulled it open, glad that there was only a soft groan from the metal hinges.  They stepped inside the small room and Shepherd pulled the door shut behind them, but he didn't allow it to latch.  An older man, lying on a narrow bed, sat up, blinking owlishly at them.

          "Who are you?" he demanded in Russian.

C.J. translated, although he didn't need to.  The tone alone told Matt what the man had said.

          "The real question is:  who are you?" Matt asked in English.

          The man's eyes rounded.  "Americans?" he asked in a whisper, glancing furtively at the closed door, then back at Shepherd.

          Matt nodded.  "Yes."

          "I am President Papken Grashi.  How did you find me?"

          "Let's just say a little bird told us," C.J. replied as he moved to the door, keeping watch through the small glass window that usually gave the staff a look at the patients.

          "We're going to get you out of here, sir," Matt explained.  "We need to get you back to the Presidential mansion, so you can switch places with your double."

          "The party," the President said, nodding his understanding.  "Tonight is my birthday party."

          "Yes, sir," Matt said, helping the man out of bed and waiting while he quickly dressed.

          "This is all my brother's doing.  Of that I am sure.  What is he doing in my absence?"

          "We don't have time to get into the specifics.  Let's just say he's rattling sabers with your neighbors, and he's pissed off the Administration."

          "Azerbaiian," Grashi said, nodding as he tied his shoes.  "The pipeline."

"On the money," C.J. said.

"My brother is predictable," the President replied flatly.

As soon as Grashi was ready, Matt guided him to the door.  "Stay close, Mr. President."

          "I will," he promised.  "And thank you, for coming for me."

          "All clear," C.J. announced.

          "Come on," Matt instructed.  The three men stepped out into the dark hallway.

          They moved quickly down the empty corridors, C.J. accompanying the President while Matt led the way.  After a few moments, the Brit said, "I'm curious.  Why didn't your brother just kill you?  I mean, why go to all the trouble of keeping you here."

Grashi flashed the operator a brief smile.  "Superstition," was the blunt reply.

"Come again?"

"My people believe that it is very bad luck to kill your own blood," Grashi explained.  "He spared me out of his own demented sense of family honor and simple fear."

          "Ah," C.J. replied.  "So you can wage war on the freely elected government, but you can't kill your next of kin.  Makes perfect sense to me."

          "As I said," the President said softly with a shrug, "superstition."

          A moment later an alarm echoed shrilly through the halls.

          "Damn," Matt said, picking up the pace.  "They must have found the guard."

          "There!" someone barked in Russian.

          "Company," C.J. said, turning to fire at the man with his silenced HK.

They turned the corner.  Two guards stared in surprise at the threesome.  Both went down in one burst from Shepherd's MP-5.  Two of the inmates peeked out from behind their doors, but quickly ducked back into their rooms.  Matt used his sat-phone.

"Chance," he said, "we've stirred up the locals."

"Roger that, sir," the black man replied.  Sitting in front of a computer back at the Silver Star, he reviewed the incoming satellite images on the monitor.  "It looks like they're pulling in some of the troops from the perimeter.  Find a way out and the road to the northwest looks pretty clear.

"How many inside now?" Matt asked softly.

"Up to twenty.  The outside guards are all going inside."

"Stay on the line," Matt instructed.  "We might need intel on the way out."

"Roger that," Chance replied, wishing he was there with them.

Shepherd raised his fist and C.J. grabbed Grashi, jerking the President to a stop behind Matt.

At the end of another hall, Shepherd bent low and checked around the corner.  It was another hallway, short, that led to the near end of a corridor.  Only two room doors showed.  He motioned for Grashi to look.

"For the orderlies and nurses," the President said.  "To sit and smoke their cigarettes.

"We clear them," Matt decided.

C.J. nodded.  "Stay back a little," he instructed Grashi.

The two operators ran silently to the first door.  C.J. took the low position.  Shepherd reached across and turned the knob, rammed the door inward, then leaned back away from the opening.

C.J. had a perfect view of the room from the floor level.  It was empty.

They moved to the second door, repeating the same procedure.  This time there were three men in uniform standing next to a coffee machine, talking quietly.  C.J. riddled all three with his silenced MP-5, set on full auto, and they slammed against the wall and went down.  One tried to sit up and Matt finished him with three more rounds.

They reached the double doors at the end of the hallway.

"A different wing," the President said softly.  "For the ones they can let, how do you say it?  Wander around?"

Shepherd took the floor position this time and C.J. pushed the door open.  The hallway was empty.  They entered, moving quickly to the next corridor. 

Matt leaned forward to check another hall when he heard C.J. send a three-round burst back down the way they had just come.  Two guards darted back out of sight.

"They're closing in behind us," C.J. announced.

"They're herding us," Matt realized.  "Where to?"

"The cafeteria," Grashi said.  "It could be made a killing field."

"We need cover," Shepherd said.

"That way," the President said, pointing to another set of double door halfway down the hall.  "We will, how do you say it?  Blend in?"

They hurried down the hall.  Matt rammed the one of the double doors open, then leaped back as six rounds jolted through the opening.  C.J. was back at floor level and he sprayed a dozen rounds into the corridor, chewing up the two men who had been guarding the passage.  The soldiers went down.  One tried to roll over and fire back.  Shepherd ended his efforts, slamming him with a three-round burst.

Someone made a noise at the other side of the hall.  Shepherd looked over, his MP-5 tracking with him, and saw a small man in pajamas holding both hands over his head.  He squealed out a string of high-pitched words.

Grashi stepped into the hall, speaking quickly in his own tongue.  The man skittered back into his room.  "He thinks you are avenging angels."

C.J. snorted.  "Guess that's one way to describe us."

Less than a minute later they reached the ambulatory wing of the hospital.

          The old man C.J. had spoken to earlier stood in the hallway, talking to a dozen other patients, all of whom were chattering excitedly about the aliens who were there to take them away.  A nurse, two orderlies and three guards were trying to herd them back into their rooms, but the inmates refused to be moved.

          And then the old man spotted C.J.  He raised his voice, shouting, "There!  The Gomboms return!"  He rushed to C.J. as the guards spotted them and began pushing their way through the gathered inmates.

          "I'm afraid we've, uh, found our ambassador," C.J. explained as the old man nearly threw himself into the operator's arms.  He forced the man back with the muzzle of his MP-5.

          The old man's eyes narrowed.  "Him?  But he's crazy!  He thinks he's the president of Armenia!" he howled.

          The rest of the patients stopped, looking confused.

          Spotting the guards, C.J. quickly amended, "No, we've decided to take all of you!  You're _all_ going to Gombom!"

          A wild cheer went up as the men danced and screamed with excitement and glee.

          "But you can't let them stop you!" C.J. hollered over the din, pointing to the guards.

          The inmates immediately turned on the two men, swarming them, driving them to the floor, and giving the operators the time they needed to get the President away.  Moments later they were being followed by the inmates.  When Matt headed for one of the stairwells, the old man stopped them.

          "We're leaving, Gombom?"

          "Yes," C.J. said, adding, "Now."

          "I know a way to the hills," the old man explained.  "The mothership can find us there, yes?"

          "Oh, absolutely," C.J. said, motioning for the old man to lead the way.  When they were out of the hospital, he asked, "You knew how to escape, and you've stayed?"

          The old man flashed the operator a tooth-less grin.  "I've known for years, but I never had a reason to leave, until now," he said, looking up into the sky.

          C.J. used his HK to coldcock the man.  When he woke, he was going to be very disappointed.  Then he turned to the other inmates.  "Listen to me, carefully," he said in Russian.  "The mother ship will come soon.  We have to go out and… guide it to you.  You must wait here until the ship arrives.  Do you understand?"

          "Gombom, why did you strike Nicoli?" one of the men asked.

          "I, uh, only put him in a, uh, trance.  He is meeting with the Gombomian High Council."

          That seemed to satisfy the inmates and they began to sit down, ready to wait for the alien craft that would take them away.

          "Let's go," Matt said.

          "I feel kind of bad," C.J. said as they jogged in the shadows, heading for the waiting van.

          "They'll get over it," Matt replied, guessing what was bothering the Brit.

          "I will see that their ship arrives," Grashi vowed.

          C.J. shot the man a questioning glance.

          "It is the least I can do.  After all, they have helped restore me."

          "Not yet they haven't," Matt said softly.  "Cut the chatter."

A few minutes later they reached the van.  "Chance," Matt said into the sat-phone.  "We're out and in the van on the southwest side.  We're heading for the second vehicle."

          "Roger," was the reply.  "Routes to the northwest still look the most open.  One roadblock, about two miles from the hospital.  You should be able to turn off before that."

          "Roger," Shepherd replied, pulling onto the road and driving away from the hospital.  "C.J., give the President a weapon – just in case.  We're about five minutes from a second van, sir," he told Grashi.  "We have some clothes there for you.  Please, get ready as quickly as possible."

          "I am ready now!  I will have my brother in chains!"

          "Here," C.J. said, handing the President a MP-5.

          Looking down at the weapon, Grashi fell silent.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Presidential Mansion**

 

          Benny Ray watched Margo from a discrete distance.  She was frustrated.  Every time she tried to get close to the double she was turned away by one security man or another, and no matter what she said or did, they would not allow her past.  At least the so-called President looked as annoyed as she did.  He was definitely interested, but he was unwilling or unable to challenge Zivian's people.

After one last useless effort, Margo returned to join him.

          "So much for feminine wiles," he teased her quietly.

          She shot him a nasty glare.  "And I suppose you think you can get close to him?"

          "Nope," Benny Ray said.  "Don't think they'll let me any closer than you.  Better to make the target come to us."

          Margo paused a moment, then said, "Agreed.  But–"

          "What's the first step?" he asked her.

          She shook her head, not understanding where he was going with the question.  For a brief moment she wished Matt were there with her.

          "The first step to getting your target to come to you is to get noticed," he said softly, his blue eyes dancing with humor and intensity.

          "I know that.  How?" she asked.  "I've done everything but strip."

          "Let's dance," he replied.

          Margo's eyes rounded.  "Yeah.  Right."

          Benny Ray reached out and took her hand, pulling her out onto the dance floor.

"I don't think–"  She stopped.  A few steps were all it took before she realized that the sniper was an accomplished ballroom dancer.  "I'm impressed," she said, then smiled.  "Your little secret?"

          "It's all about precision and timing," he said, "just like a whole lot of what we do."

"Granted, but I'll bet you didn't advertise your… skill… to your buddies in sniper school."

"Nope."

She smiled and they continued to dance, the steps getting more and more complex, drawing the attention of the guests and the other dancers, and the double.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

# On the road

 

          Matt drove the second small van, his sat-phone held between his ear and shoulder.  "Chance, is the northwest route still clear?"

          Back at the Silver Star, the pilot studied his computer monitor.  "Yes, sir.  It's definitely good to go.  It looks like they pulled most of the road blocks from the west."

          "They must think we're still at the hospital," Matt said, taking a right and heading to the west.  They would skirt around the city and, hopefully, find a place to slip back in without being noticed.

In the back of the van, C.J. worked on Garshi, turning the man back into the president of his country with a beard trim, a haircut, and a tux.

          Listening to the two men chatter away, Matt decided that Garshi as both energetic and eccentric.  It was no wonder his brother chose a mental institution.  Papken Grashi's more than healthy ego made him sound arrogant and pompous.  Just the right combination to mask as delusion.

          "Major," Chance said over the phone.  "Bad news, sir.  They're setting up roadblocks again on all the roads leading back into the city," he said.

          "All of them?" Matt asked.

          "Yes, sir," was Chances reply.  "Sorry I couldn't warn you sooner, but as the satellite move away the delay gets longer–"

          "Damn," Matt interrupted as he followed the two-lane road into a blind turn only to discover that on the far side there were three military vehicles blocking the road.  He had no choice but to stop.

          "What's up?" C.J. asked, peering out over Matt's shoulder.  "Damn," he breathed when he saw the men.

          "Get ready," Shepherd said to the Brit.

          "Can we back up?" C.J. offered, his MP-5 in his hands.

          "Chance, who are these guys?"

          "Military," the black man supplied.

          "Soldiers," Matt relayed, but before he could continue Grashi opened the rear door of the van and stepped out.

          "Bloody hell," C.J. hissed.  "The bloody plonker really _is_ crazy!"

          "Sir?" Chance asked, having heard C.J.'s comment.  "What's going on?"

          "Hell if I know," Matt muttered.  "I haven't been in command of this mission since we left the nut house."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

# Presidential Mansion

# The President's Office

 

          "How did this happen?" General Grashi demanded, his fists curled into tight balls.

          "I warned you," Zivian growled.  "But you refused to listen!"

          "But it was _you_ who allowed them to take my brother!" the General snapped, pacing across the thick carpet with short, clipped steps.  "We have no choice.  We must accelerate the timetable."

          Zivian nodded.  He knew what he had to do.

          "Do not fail me this time," the General threatened.

          His eyes narrowed, Zivian replied, "Do not threaten me, Alek."

          The General's steps faltered and stopped.  He took a deep breath, then allowed his anger to flair.  "I will do whatever I please – once I am president.  And you will help me become President, or I will have you killed."

          Zivian turned and stalked out of the room.  _Perhaps I will kill you after I killed Tovov and become president myself_ , he thought.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

# Military road block

 

          Matt and C.J. watched as Garshi approached the soldiers, who all came to attention, the ranking man saluting smartly when they saw him.  The President spoke to them for a few moments, and then they returned to their vehicles.  A few moment later the jeeps rolled out of the way.

          Grashi returned to the van and climbed back in.

          "How did you do that?" C.J. asked.

          With a smile, he replied, "Do what?  I am their President!  I told them to move, they move!"

          Matt shook his head as he pulled forward, heading back into the city.  "Chance," he said.  "We're in.  Check the mansion.  See if Margo and Benny Ray have signaled yet."

          "Will do," the black man replied.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

# Presidential Mansion

 

          Tovov glanced around.  Zivian was finally gone.  With a sly smile he moved closer to the dance floor, hoping to get a better look at the woman who had captured his attention for the entire evening.  He had watched one security man after another thwart his attempt to reach the woman, but no more.  He had found a guard he was sure he could dominate.

          The young man stepped up, blocking his path yet again.  "Move," he ordered, tired of the game and very much wanting to meet the beautiful Russian woman who was gliding across the dance floor, an enticing angel.

          "I'm sorry, sir, but–"

          "I said, out of my way," Tovov growled heatedly.  The young security man hesitated, then stepped aside.  He started forward, but the guard fell into step beside him.  "What are you doing?" he snapped.

          "Sir, I was told to keep you under close watch.  Your safety, sir–"

          "Is my concern," he snarled.  "If you do not leave me, I will have you exiled!  This is _my_ party.  I will do, and see, whomever I wish to see!  Do you understand?  Now, leave me!"

          "Yes, sir," the young man said, hurrying away.

          He watched for a moment to be sure the guard would not shadow his movement, then hurried to the dance floor, watching the last few steps in a tango that was more sexually charged than he expected given her partner, who looked like he would be more comfortable on the battlefield than on a dance floor.  But for all of that he was an accomplished dancer, complimenting her move for move.  The double clapped with the rest of the spectators, then stepped up to Margo and started to introduce himself.  The band held off starting again when they saw him.

          "Mr. President," Margo interrupted with a curtsey.

          "And you are?" he asked in Russian.

          "Natalia Khvorostyanov," she said, rising again.  Looking up through her lashes she added, "I wanted to wish you a Happy Birthday, Mr. President."

          Tovov smiled.  She was stunning, and he immediately wanted her.  And, since he was the President, there was no reason why he shouldn't have her.

          "Why, thank you," he said.  "I saw your… performance," he added.  "Perhaps you would like to dance with me?"

          Margo looked up, her eyes rounded in innocent excitement.  "Oh, yes, that would be heavenly."

          Benny Ray moved a little closer, clearing his throat.

          "Natalia" glanced over her shoulder and frowned slightly, then turned back to the President and said, "Forgive my co-worker," in Russian.  "He's is an American; very jealous."

          Tovov forced his gaze up from her cleavage to meet the American's eyes.  "Good evening," he greeted in Russian.  Margo translated.

          "Pleased to meet you, Mr. President," Benny Ray said, extending his hand.

          The double shook it, noting the protective gleam in the American's eyes.  "And you are?" he asked and it was translated again.

          "Benjamin Ewing," the sniper said, then continued, speaking to Margo, "Come on, darlin', how about another dance?"

          She shook her head.  "The President has the next dance," she explained in accented English, then in Russian.

          Benny Ray looked annoyed, but he stepped aside, allowing the couple onto the floor.  The band began to play again, a waltz, and Tovov led Margo across the hardwood, the other dancers leaving the pair alone on the floor until Benny Ray offered his hand to a pretty young woman, and stepped onto the floor with her.  A moment later, Margo and the double were lost in the crowd of dancers.

          "You are very lovely," Tovov said.

          Margo dipped her head, her cheeks flushing just slightly.  "Thank you, Mr. President."  She added, "And you are a wonderful dancer," even as she thought to herself that Benny Ray could teach the man a great deal.

          When the dance ended Margo wasn't too surprised to find that Benny Ray and his borrowed partner were close by.  He lifted the young woman's hand, bowed slightly and kissed the back of her hand.  She smiled.  _Redneck my ass_ , she thought.

          "Can I offer you a drink?" Tovov asked.  "In my office, perhaps?"

          Margo nodded.  "Yes, that would be… lovely."

          They started off, but Benny Ray caught Margo's arm.  "Where you goin'?" he asked.

          "The President has asked me to share a drink," she replied.

          Benny Ray's gaze flashed from Margo to Tovov and back again.  "In his bedroom, right?" he sneered.

          Margo slapped him – hard.  "Get some air, Mr. Ewing," she snapped.  "The drinks have gone to your head."

          Benny Ray drew himself up, looking indignant.  "I'm gonna get another drink," he announced, then stalked off.

          "What was that?" the double asked.  "I'll have him–"

          "No," Margo interrupted.  "Please, Mr. President.  He is too important for the construction of the pipeline.  I told him to get some air.  He will be fine."

          Tovov watched Benny Ray walk over to a table, picking up a glass of champagne, then heading toward the French doors that opened on the gardens.

          "Are you sure?" he asked.

          Margo watched Benny Ray step outside, then turned back to Tovov.  "Yes.  He is just… possessive.  I am so very sorry, Mr. President," she said, looking guilty and flirtatious at the same time.  "What can I say?  He is an American."

          "Yes, he is," Tovov agreed, his distaste clear in his tone.  He extended his hand to Margo.  "Now, why don't you come up to my office?  We will have a drink and forget Mr. Ewing."

          She smiled and dipped her head.  "Yes, I would like that… very much."

          They walked off together, their arms linked.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

# Near the Presidential Mansion

 

          Matt ground his teeth and forced his temper down.  "Look, Mr. President, I'm here to make sure that you regain your rightful place as president, but–"

          "I _will_ see my brother shot as a traitor!  You will do as I tell you!"

          "I thought you said that was bad luck," C.J. interrupted.  The two men had been arguing for almost ten minutes on how to proceed.  Grashi wanted to walk in and denounce the imposter and his brother.  Matt wanted to go with the original plan.  They were getting nowhere quick.

          "I don't care!  He had me reduced to nothing!  An inmate in an asylum!"

          "And I'm starting to wonder if your time in that institution might not have affected your judgment," Shepherd added.

          Grashi paused, studying Matt with a pointed gaze.  Then he smiled and chuckled softly.  "Perhaps you are right, Mr. Shepherd.  I am a politician… we are all a little insane, are we not?"

          Matt grinned, relaxing a little.  "I won't argue with you about that."

          The President nodded.  "We will work together."

          "Good," Matt said.  He lifted the sat-phone, asking, "Chance, anything from Margo and Benny Ray?"

          "Single signal, sir," was the immediate reply.

          "Damn," Matt said softly.

          "Next satellite pass will be in less than four minutes," Chance said.

          "Margo must be out of practice," Shepherd mumbled.  "I'll check back."

          "Roger that."

Matt turned to Grashi.  "So, any ideas about how we can get in there – unobserved?"

The President smiled.  "Follow me."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

# Presidential Mansion

 

          Margo stood with the double just outside the doors to the President's office on the second floor.  Beyond the wood-railed balcony she could watch the party-goers, including Benny Ray.  He nodded slightly.  The guards in the garden were taken care of.  Now she just had to get the imposter outside.

"I was thinking," she said, reaching out to grasp the man's bicep in both of her hands.  "It is so warm in here.  Perhaps we could take a walk together before that drink?  I have heard that the Presidential gardens are beautiful in the moonlight."

          Tovov smiled at her.  "An excellent idea, my dear."  He turned, but before he could take a single step, two shots rang out in quick succession.

          The double jerked violently as he was struck twice in the chest.  Blood splattered over Margo's dress and bare skin.  She gasped and lurched back, looking wildly around for the shooter.

          Benny Ray also saw the shooting, and, instincts taking over, he turned, automatically dropping into a crouch as he pinpointed the location he knew the shots must have come from.  On a high balcony he saw Zivian duck back into the shadows still holding his weapon.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Matt, C.J. and President Grashi entered the mansion through a service entrance near the kitchens only to find that pandemonium had taken over.  People scurried in all directions.

"We need a safe place to hide," Shepherd said immediately, knowing something was wrong.

Grashi led the way to an empty storage room.

Matt radioed Benny Ray, asking, "What the hell's going on?"

"The double's dead," the sniper replied.  "Two shots to the chest."

"Margo?" Matt asked.

"Fine.  The shooter's a tall man, scar on his face.  I think he's the General's right hand.  Bet this was the plan all along."

"Yeah.  Guess the General doesn't believe in bad luck."

"What?" Benny Ray asked.

"Get Margo; be ready to beat-feet," Matt said, ignoring the question.  There would be plenty of time to explain later – if they could get out.

"Roger that."

Matt turned to the President.  "The double's dead."

The President went pale and leaned back against the wall.  "What do we do now?  Alek has won."

"Not just yet," Shepherd said, a feral grin spreading across his face.  "Sometimes you've just gotta do something a little crazy, right?" he asked Grashi.  "Take off your shirt, Mr. President."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Benny Ray strode across the dance floor, meeting Margo as she reached the bottom of the stairs.  "You okay?" he asked.

          She nodded.  "I guess General Garshi was tired of sharing power," she said softly, side-stepping the camera crew that had been covering the party as they headed for the stairs.

          "Matt's here with the real President."

          Her eyes rounded.  "But–"

          She stopped as Alek Garshi stopped the press at the foot of the steps.  "Please," he said, "this is a tragedy.  Please, do not dishonor my brother."

"What happened?" one of the guests called out.

"We are trying to discern that right now.  Please, a few minutes, and then I will return and tell you everything we know.  But I must ask you to remain here in the ballroom."  He turned and climbed the stairs as security men moved into the room, blocking the exits, as well as access up the stairs.

"Great," Margo breathed.

"Got a problem, Boss," Benny Ray said into his lapel mike.  "We're stuck in the ballroom."

"Hang tight," was Shepherd's comment.  "We have a plan."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Back in the storage room, Matt turned to the President.  "All right, this isn't going exactly like we planned, but I think we can still finish the job, _if_ we can get into the Presidential wing of the mansion."

          "Follow me," Garshi said.  He opened the store room door and checked the hallway.  It was empty, the staff having gathered with the other guests to try and find out what, exactly, had happened.  He led them back outside, following a series of dark pathways to a large garden, and then to a wall that girdled the landscaping with a secret entrance.

          Matt's eyebrows arched with surprise.  "And I thought they only had these in the movies," he quipped.

          "What?" Garshi asked, then getting the joke, added, "I'm a widower, not a monk, Mr. Shepherd."

          Matt and C.J. both grinned, then followed the President into the narrow tunnels.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          At the top of the stairs General Grashi found Zivian dragging Tovov's body into the President's office.  "Hurry," he hissed.

          The assassin grunted, tugging harder.  Inside the office he rolled the body onto a waiting piece of plastic.

          "Careful," the General snapped.  "I don't want blood all over my carpet."

          When Zivian had the double wrapped in the plastic, he dragged the corpse over next to the couch, then sat down.  "The American, he saw me."

          "What?" Alek said, a surge of fear almost closing his throat.

          "The man with that Russian whore."

          "You must find him," the General replied.  "Kill him.  There can be no witnesses."

          Zivian nodded.  "And the woman?"

          "Leave her to me."  Alek looked down at the body, then drew himself up.  "I must go talk to the media.  Take care of the American."

          The assassin waited until the General was gone, then stood and removed a custom-made Ruger Redhawk from his shoulder holster.  Moving to the door, he waited until Alek reached the bottom of the stairs, then exited.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Using the tunnels, Matt, C.J. and the President were able to reach Grashi's office unobserved.  Stepping into the room, Matt immediately crossed to check on a body rolled up in plastic.  The double was definitely dead.  He motioned C.J. over and instructed him to watch the hall.  Then he turned to Garshi.  "Are you ready?" he asked.

          The President nodded.

          Matt promptly shot the man twice in the chest with a silenced sidearm.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Milling with the rest of the guests, Margo and Benny Ray looked for a way out of the ballroom, but they found none.  The sniper took the opportunity to pass along what he had seen when the double was killed.

"He looked the role," Margo said.  "What was his name?  Zivian?"

Benny Ray nodded.  "Heads up," he said, seeing the General heading for the stairs.

They watched the General walk down the stairs and up to the gathered media.  He nodded and began answering questions from the reporters there to cover the party.

"What happened?"

"Is the President dead?"

"Was he shot?"

The General raised his hands.  "Please, please, I will tell you all I can."  He paused a moment, drawing in a long, deep breath, then said, "Yes, my brother is dead.  Shot – _murdered_ – by an assassin."

The crowd erupted into horrified conversation and questions.

"Please, this will not help my brother now," Alek interrupted, waiting until everyone fell silent before launching into a completely fictitious account of what was being done to catch the assassin.

As the General spoke, Benny Ray felt a stare on the back of his neck.  He turned slightly, catching sight of Zivian moving toward them through the crowd.

"Company," he said softly.

Margo turned, spotting the man.  "We're sitting ducks," she said softly.

"More like a couple 'a of wolves in sheep's clothing," Benny Ray replied.  "Why don't ya finger our little lamb."

Margo looked surprised, but she wasted no time, crying out in Russian, "Him!  The assassin!  It's the man who killed the President!"

People in the crowd turned, looking from her to the man she pointed at – Zivian.

"I was with the President!  I saw that man!  I saw him kill the President!  That is the assassin!"

Some of the security men started moving closer, and a low rumble passed through the crowd.  Zivian paused, looking honestly surprised by his sudden change of fortune.  He took a step back.

"See!  He knows he is the killer!" she added.

Benny Ray took a step toward the scar-faced man.

Zivian turned and bolted, the sniper charging after him, several security men on his heels.  They disappeared down a hallway, Margo hoping that Benny Ray would be all right.

"The traitor has been found!" General Grashi announced, turning the crowds attention from the now-empty hallway to himself.  He launched into an impassioned speech about his "beloved brother" that was both elegant and effective; several of the female guests breaking into tears.  After a promise to carry on his brother's unfinished work, the General excused himself and stepped away for a moment, wiping his dry eyes.  A moment later he returned to the cameras and continued.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Benny Ray chased Zivian down the hallway, wishing desperately that he was armed.  He watched the assassin round a corner into a room with French doors that opened onto the President's gardens.  He followed the man outside, gesturing for the three guards who had followed him to fan out.  They obeyed his unspoken order.

The narrow pathways, lined with trees and thickly planted flowering shrubs, were dark, the full moon offering little help.  The sniper moved silently along the cobblestone walks, listening for any sign of Zivian.  He knew the man was there.  He wasn't the kind to run, even when it was the smart move.

Then he heard it – footsteps behind him, falling in close synchrony to his own, slowing and accelerating with each change in his tempo.  But it wasn't Zivian.  The echo of the footfalls told the sniper that his shadow was considerably shorter and lighter than the assassin.  One of the guards, he guessed, someone loyal to Zivian.

Fifteen yards ahead, the sudden appearance of a second figure confirmed the sniper's suspicion.  It was Zivian.  The man raised his arm.  The Ruger Redhawk filled his hand.

Benny Ray dove into the foliage just as the assassin fired, the .357 Magnum revolver roaring like a miniature howitzer.  The weapon was compact, but it packed a hell of a wallop, the sniper realized, recognizing the sound of a special load of .50-caliber bullets.

A game of cat and mouse quickly ensued, Zivian and Benny Ray both stalking each other though the gardens.  A moment too late, the sniper heard the movement behind him.  The second man thrust his shoulder into Benny Ray's back, sending him reeling into the arms of assassin, who had appeared out of nowhere.

With one swift move, Zivian threw the sniper into a thicket of shrubs.  The branches scraped against his hands as he tried to cushion the impact, rough brick slicing across his palms as he reached the edge of a walkway a few feet away from a wall.

"Not a word," Zivian hissed in thickly accented English as he grabbed Benny Ray's shoulder and pinned him against the garden wall.  The pungent odor of night-blooming flowers mixed with the sour smell of champagne on the man's breath.

Benny Ray held himself motionless as Zivian scanned the sniper's body, his eyes dancing with a lurid pleasure based on power, not sexual attraction.

The second man appeared over Zivian's shoulder and grabbed Benny Ray by the bowtie.  This man's eyes betrayed no such longing, no desire to kill the prey well won. He was a toady, nothing more.

"Get back," Zivian snarled, shoving the smaller man away.  "Go.  Watch for the other guards."

The man didn't look happy, but he nodded and moved off into the darkness.

          Benny Ray had no idea what Zivian had said to the man, but he could make a good guess.

          A small blade, instead of the .357, was pressed against the side of the sniper's cheek.  Zivian smiled.  "Are you ready to die, American?" he asked, dragging the flat of the blade across Benny Ray's lips and down to his chin.  "You, American, so powerful?  You not so powerful now."  He tightened his grip.  "I will enjoy killing you."

Using the tip of the blade to tilt Benny Ray's head back, he exposed the sniper's throat.  He peered hungrily down at the sniper, probing deep in the blue eyes for the fear he craved.

          No such terror stared back at him.  Instead, Benny Ray's gaze revealed a cold indifference, a warning that Zivian could not recognize.

Trapped for a moment in what the assassin read as a strange emptiness in the sniper's eyes, he let his grip relax almost imperceptibly.  And in that moment, the devastating precision of a highly trained killer unleashed itself in an explosion of raw energy.

Benny Ray drove his knee into Zivian's groin, his knuckles into the man's throat.  The assassin reeled from the double onslaught, his knife clattering to the ground.  The sniper erupted off the ground, his foot swinging to connect with the bigger man's midsection, the jagged snap of breaking ribs forcing an anguished cry past his broken voice box as Zivian dropped to his knees.  The assassin knew he was in trouble.  He tried to raise the Redhawk, but he was too slow to avoid the sudden jab of Benny Ray's elbow to his temple.

The revolver slipped from the man's fingers and the sniper scooped it up, using it to drop the second man when he appeared on the run.  Then he turned it on Zivian, who was pushing to his feet, fueled only by pure rage.  Without hesitation Benny Ray shot the man between the eyes.  The revolver in his hand, the sniper headed back to the ballroom at a fast trot.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          General Garshi was a moment away from finishing his speech when he was interrupted by a loud call.

          "Alek!"

          The General looked out over the gathered crowd, but he did not see anyone who would have dared to interrupt his carefully chosen closing comments.  Then there was a gasp from the people gathered on the dance floor.  They were all staring behind him, staring at the stairs.

Alek turned.  Papken Garshi was making his way down the steps.  The cameras immediately shifted to the President, lenses zooming in on the man's open shirt, and the bullet-proof vest he was wearing.  A few of the more daring cameramen zoomed in farther on the two holes showing in the vest.

          Too shocked to respond, Alek stood motionless as his brother slowly approached him, then pulled him into a tight hug.

          "You snake," the President hissed softly into his brother's ear.  "I will see you pay for this treason."

          A moment later the brothers pulled apart.  Papken was smiling.  Alek was pale and trembling, but he had his wits back.  "An imposter!  This man is an imposter!" he cried.  "Can't you see?  He's an imposter!  My brother is dead!"  He reached under his jacket, starting to pull out a Glock, but the people in the crowd immediately closed in on the General, grabbing, restraining, and disarming him.

          "No!  That is _not_ Papken Grashi!  That is _not_ the President!  **I** am the President!"

A few moments later, soldiers were pulling the ranting General away.

          "An imposter!" Alek screamed as they half-dragged, half-carried him out of the ballroom.  "My brother is dead!  _I_ am in charge now!  I _am_ the President!"

          Papken watched until Alek was gone, then shook his head sadly as he turned back to the cameras, which had been trained on the General until he was gone.  "Poor Alek," he said sadly.  "The shock was too much for him.  He has always loved me too much."

          "Mr. President, who shot you?" one of the reporters asked.

          "Ah, a man called Zivian, one of Alek's aides…"  He glanced over, catching Matt's gaze.

          Shepherd nodded once.

          "I am assured that he is no longer a threat."

          The President's next words were lost in the swell of new questions.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          In the shadows near the grand staircase that lead to the second floor, the team watched Grashi handle each of the reporter's questions with practiced mastery.

          "Well, it wasn't pretty," Matt said softly, "but it's done."  He looked at Benny Ray, meeting the sniper's gaze.  "You all right?"

          "Yep," was the man's brief reply.

          "Then let's get out of here," Matt concluded.

          The others all nodded, then Margo grinned and said, "Too bad the band's gone.  I would've loved one more dance before we go."

          C.J. frowned.  "Dance?"  He looked from Margo to Benny Ray, but neither of them looked like they were ready to talk.  "Benny Ray dances?" he asked.

          "She means with the real President," Benny Ray said smoothly.  "She waltzed with the double."

          "Oh no," Margo corrected, blinking innocently at the sniper, whose cheeks were already a dusty rose color.  "I'd really much rather have another tango, thank you very much."

          "Benny Ray _tangos?_ " C.J. squeaked, his eyes rounding with surprise.

          His question went unanswered as they slipped out of the mansion.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**The Silver Star**

**Two Days Later**

 

          Matt and Trout sat in the basement kitchen, watching the end of a CNN breaking news report – a press conference being held by the real President of Armenia.

          Trout shook his head when the program returned to another report.  "Well," he said, "it appears that Grashi's unexpected brush with death has made him realize the futility of violence.  I understand he's already set up a series of diplomatic missions to

Azerbaijan.  Not to mention that he's decided to honor his original oil deal with the U.S."

          "A near death experience will do that," Matt said, grinning.

          "So I hear."

          "Hey, it's good news for the home team, right?" Matt asked, walking over to pour himself another cup of coffee.  "But I do have one question."

          "And that would be?" Trout asked.

          "What finally happened to General Grashi?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

# Skivpin Hospital

 

          General Alek Grashi sat in his padded cell, rocking back and forth and mumbling to himself.  "He was _dead_.  _Dead_.  _I_ am the president.  I _am_ the president."  He looked up at the small window in his door and bellowed, "I am the president!"

 The End


End file.
